An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

I stand on the shore  my blood is from  a distant origin  far away from here  I hear the vibrations  of their strings  the breathy notes  of bamboo flutes  I feel the rumble of their drums like distant thunder that fills my ears. I capture the tones  of their words  in both hands  and learn them silently.  I bring their hopes  with me here  in this land  so very far away.

What I've learned  from cats:  do not settle  for anything less  rest and relaxation  keeps you nimble  falling leaves  outside the window  is all the entertainment  you really need  food always there water always filled the sound of treat bag is a rallying cry affection in small doses  when you want them  we're all from royalty  and should be respected

A midnight run  to buy some snacks  study group together  too much coffee  not enough sleep  final lab projects  fifteen page essays  back with all-nighters  in the computer center  with the printers hooked up the dot matrix chatter because you didn't have  a desktop of your own  Those ancient days  thirty years ago

Be gentle  a soft touch  can do so much  more than a harsh one.  But such is mistaken  not as strength  but as weakness  in a world of false power  They say we need  to toughen ourselves  to survive through life  no indulgences  So soft rain  on our cheek  feels like the lash  of pure scorn. The wind smashes through the rigid buildings of the mind while the plum blossoms bend and survive the hurricane.

Inspired by a #MPPrompt on Bluesky (Thanks, Malachy!) I guess poetry  doesn't have to rhyme?  So all I have to do  is just break up  lines  just like  this  word salad  indubitably  unerringly  without a doubt  my heartburn  sounds so smart  the cows  ate dad's keys anyone can do it, it's easy But hey  no one says  it has to make sense  right?

Tucked away  in buried grovefolds where ash and oak trees  used to grow in the wild  the bones of the old ones  the druids and the wise women  who knew this ancient land  sleep calm and undisturbed  no stones to mark them  only flowers for pillows their blood still runs through the loamy soil the birds sing their songs because nature still remembers